Amoris de Mortis
by Ukchana
Summary: I'd never been permitted to indulge myself before. The mere idea of allowing myself to allow such a thing had been alien to me for so long, that making choices was a difficult state to achieve. WARNING: Char Death. Chap 6 Rated M for graphic sit.
1. Slain

This is not a normal fanfic.

This is disturbing, hard to read. It won't be pretty, or easy.

Keep in mind, you've been warned.

On that note, please leave a review telling me what you think. Even if it's to just tell me how sick and twisted i am and how I need a therapist. Though, just so you know, I already have seen quite a few.

WARNINGS: Character death. Mature issues about grief and fear of mortality. Gundam Wing is not my series, these are not my characters, but this is my story and the manner in which I present this idea is mine also. Thanks.

* * *

"Amoris de Mortis"

**1: Slain**

The wind moans around me almost sadly. I guess a part of me appreciates it; the sunny skies above seem to mock everything within me - and to mock her, too.

She's dead, you see.

I kneel at her grave and put the flowers down that I brought. She always said giving flowers to a girl was silly, old fashioned. I think she thought I was cute and quaint for being an old fashioned kind of guy. When I was down and low, sometimes she would bring me flowers . . . a joke and a thoughtful gesture all in one.

As I glance up at the tall statue carved into her gravestone, I catch my breath a moment. This is the part that makes me feel the most whole, out of everything.

The angel looks just like her; sprite-like, wide-eyed, the tiny girl smiles out from a heart-shaped face, framed by that pixie-cut dark hair . . .

Well, it's stone, so the hair isn't dark, but a grayish-white. Yet, when I look at it . . . somehow, it turns a midnight blue in my mind.

I lean forward, brushing my hands along the smooth features of my angel. My breath shakes a bit, and boy am I relieved that there's no one around to hear me. This is just for her.

"Hey, baby," my voice catches, thin as a reed. All the strength that used to be in my voice left with her. "Have I told you how good you look with wings?"

My eyes are suddenly flooded, and I free a hand from touching the statue to wipe at the tears ineffectually. "I missed you, today," I continue, listening painfully to the own baritone of my voice as it cracks and wobbles, making me sound like I'm going through puberty again. "Look what you can do to me, Hilde," I chuckle, and it almost becomes a sob - almost. "You always had a strong effect."

Gently wrapping my arms around the statue, I can almost pretend that the sun-warmed stone is flesh, and I close my eyes against the monochromatic nature of rock, seeing her in my mind. "I know what you're gonna say," I tell her softly. " 'Duo, stop hugging that damned statue. It's not me.' But . . . it's all I've got left, baby." I start to weep, this time - can't keep it at bay. "I know - you'll understand -"

It takes me a while to compose myself.

The God of Death shouldn't cry.

Then again, no one he loves should die, either.

(-(-(-)-)-)

God, I hate sitting at home alone.

It started to rain after I sat for a few hours at the cemetery. I walked home in the summer downpour, feeling pretty much the most miserable person in the Earth Sphere. People passed by me, but I don't even think I registered them at all. It's difficult to think of someone besides myself, these days.

Odd, you might say, that I am totally aware of how selfish I'm being. Well, frankly, I don't fucking care what anyone thinks. Maybe I am wallowing in my own self pity because Hilde is gone. But see how you react when the person who means the most to you dies.

Right now I'm staring at the television, not really seeing it. There's some stupid talk-show on right now. It's a Saturday, but they can't manage to put anything good on during the afternoon. Go figure. At least all these bastards have the one they love. They're all fucking wonderfully happy –

In a sudden rage, I turn off the television, sick of the smiling faces. The only smiling face I want to see will never stand before me again. I want to crush their joy between my bare hands, give them a taste of what I feel, not that even their worst suffering would even scratch the surface of mine –

You see, I was always a selfish person, I suppose. I sit on the couch, fists clenched, and all I can here is Hilde's voice, telling me how selfish I'm being. Totally selfish.

"What do you know," I say aloud, and am almost defeated by the cracking of my voice . . . again. "You're _dead_." It breaks, and I bite back an angry sob. "Who even knows that there's a heaven. Are you in heaven, baby? Are you happy?"

I lie back on the davenport and wonder how long it will be until Quatre comes to visit me today. That thought brings me to the other thought that had begun to bother my mind again – a memory, recent, of the memorial that he put in the local papers. It makes him feel better, I know, but damn, do I really not believe in God and certainly not in a heaven. It's almost amusing, seeing the ad. Except for the fact that I know Hilde believed in the whole damn shebang. Hook, line, and sinker.

As I cover my face with my hands, I ask myself, again, why then have I started to pray lately? I haven't prayed since . . . well, I have vague memories of my parents taking me to Sunday school when I was very little . . . before they died.

Fuck, if everyone doesn't die on me.

I roll towards the couch back, weeping again, and wondering when I'm scheduled to die.

It wouldn't be the first time I've thought of advancing my appointment.


	2. Shattered

Sorry for my absence. It's been a while since I felt that I could write for this story. It takes a certain mindset.

**HanyouKagome008: **Pairings are often done wrong, in my opinion. Thanks so much for the review, I hope you enjoy this installment as well. :-)

**Melinda-chan**: Hey there! Never did get to China, unfortunately. Probably a good thing, we needed that money later to move across the country. As for the way Hilde died, it will be explained, slowly and with a painful drawing out. lol

**Purdy: **Definitly more to write! This fic will go wherever Duo leads it - which could be quite far into some uncomfortable depths. So, thus, we plunge in. Hope you keep reading!

**Morentis: **Well, I suppose I could get floral, if not florid. ;-) You'll never read this review, but I really appreicate you taking the time to leave it, and perhaps someday I can pull you away from your MMOGs and get you to leave another. Thanks for being a part of my universe. (hugs)

_**Shattered**_

_My dream of her  
Is a shattered mirror  
Oh sweet, sharp glass  
How you loose my wine  
Such tender veins  
Such darkness inside _

A few hours later, and Quatre's knocking on my door.

Okay, so I'm not absolutely certain it's Quatre - but the firm yet slow knock holds the same insistency that his knocking has had every day since she died.

And then, he calls through the door; and I can almost imagine the pale, child-like features scowling slightly at the peephole, sickly-yellow hair feathering around his face - his eyes are more hollow than before, darkened like the rest of him, with pain and loss. Like me, too.

"Duo," he says, high tenor voice concerned yet determined, "It's Quatre. Come on and open the door. Do you want to go out to eat today? Relena is going to meet us at a restaurant. She really wanted to see you again."

Relena wants to see me? It's only been a month - I didn't think she would have been able to visit our colony again so soon.

The funeral was held here. That was the last time I've seen most of my friends - Relena, Heero, and Wu Fei and Sally. Catherine and Trowa stop by when they can. Quatre has been the best.

As I lie on the couch, thinking about this, said friend quiets and silence fills the space again. I don't move, but continue to stare at the ceiling . . . my newest hobby. Right now, I feel kind of numb. In shock, I guess.

I've been told that there are many levels and stages of grief - they fluctuate. To me, grief is like a dying bird - its wings flapping desperately, moods ever changing in a desperate grasp for life. That life that has left me.

There is a creaking sound and a low mournful sigh from the door as it opens slowly – I didn't think to lock it – and Quatre's muted footsteps as he begins to walk over to me.

The white, mottled ceiling is replaced for a moment by the blond's cherubic face frowning down at me, and I exhale painfully, the sheer act of breathing aching in my chest. "Hey, buddy," I smirk up at him from where I sprawl on the sofa, my voice hoarse.

Sighing, my friend sits on the edge of the couch, near my knees, and looks at me with an expression that fills me with indefinable guilt. "Duo . . . come on. I . . ." His blond head falls, gaze clouding with the millions of things I'm sure he wants to say, before he raises it again and instead tells me gently, "You are very important to a lot of people. It hurts us to see you this way."

I nod, closing my eyes and turning my head away, towards the turned-off TV. "I know. But . . . I'm kinda a selfish person."

Quatre exhales again, looking sad, and for a strange moment, I wonder how much pain I'm causing everyone who is worrying about me.

But then my selfishness reasserts itself, and I scowl at my own sense of compassion before turning away from him again. No more. No more love, no more anything. I refuse.

"_How can you abandon them, Duo?"_

The memory of her voice, transferred into my conscience, almost buzzes around my head, and I jerk my shoulders spasmodically as I hear it within my mind. _Hilde . . ._

"Duo!" Quatre's arms grab my shoulders, worry trilling his voice like a frazzled sparrow . . . and his touch, the human contact, brakes me in two.

A distant part of me hears myself sobbing, hears his voice softly, gently cooing into my ear as he rocks me while I cry, but all I can see is deep blue eyes and a kind smile . . .

She so wished for me to be happy.

For us . . . _all_ of us. To be happy.

Quatre holds me, and I cling to him helplessly.

Minute after minute goes by, and when my breath smoothes, and the catching in my chest passes, Quatre asks me again, my head pressed against his chest, if I want to go visit Relena.

This time I say yes.

I clean myself up pretty quickly, almost surprised at the smooth skin that appears on my face, the stubble cut down by my blade.

When I walk into the restaurant, those who take a disinterested first glance give double-takes, and for some reason, I find many people gazing at me.

"What's going on, Quatre?" I murmur, adjusting my leather jacket around myself as if it were armor, shielding me from their stares.

The blond raises his head and glances around, then turns to look at me, a wary tinge to the silver-blue of his eyes. "You frighten them, Duo."

My head falls, and I study the floor as we come to a halt in front of a desk, where a woman in a white outfit and a black apron stands.

"Party of three," Quatre tells her.

While he goes over his reservations and the fact that the third party could already be there, I take tired glances at those passing me. Their eyes meet mine and fall suddenly, an air of panic tightening their features and clouding their faces.

Quatre is right.

But they're not just afraid. They're terrified.

I raise my head and find myself staring into my own reflection. A mirror. And my long chestnut hair frames my face smoothly, brushed to a shine before we left and plaits braded tightly, but it does not hold my attention. That is not what I see.

I see what is inside of it, between it; my pallid flesh, and the darkened skin beneath my haunted gaze, and a violence held barely in check within the crackling violet of my eyes.

Quatre touches my elbow and I can hear him murmur that our table is ready. With a final look, I turn my gaze onto the hostess.

She starts, and that terror is that which I have placed within her.

Quickly, the girl moves from us and begins to lead us through the menagerie of the restaurant . . . a bit too swiftly.

That fear.

I caused that.

When moments pass, and I find Quatre seating himself at an empty table, I stir my own mind, and realize that for the first time since her death, my thoughts were not of my love.

They were of my lust.

That frightens me.

_I drink to her, drink of my flesh  
Glass of light, shards of her  
Matching cuts cut me  
A thousand times and yet  
Her reflection escapes me  
Within the mirror's glass_


	3. Crushed

**Rikku: **Hey, kid. Thanks for reading. And the praise is far too kind, I'm not THAT good . . . I sure tried to get his emotions right. Actually, it wasn't that hard. I just waited until I was really depressed, and then I wrote. 

**Purdy**: To write like this? Er, I guess get really depressed. Another method is to concentrate on improving sections of writing, such as characterization, description, plot, etc. That's what I did. Thanks for reviewing and reading! I really appreciate it.

**Chris**: You're no loser! And thanks, glad Duo's still sexy. ;-p And you must have more pain and misery? Wow. Well, I can tell from your music that you like it, lol. Thanks for reading and you're the best punk-rocker ever.

**Kamineko**: You are the catalyst for this chapter. I got your review after the bad news today about the game, and I was like, "Yes. I have to write now." Bad days good sadfic I guess. And actually, it's **not** a songfic.

**Just in case anyone else had this misconception**, the "lyrics" in the previous chapter are NOT from any real song. I wrote them myself, they are poetry. It's called a poem, lol. (elbows you all) JK. But, yeah, I wrote it myself.

(And, just in case any Fanfiction –dot- net admin are around:)

**I wrote that poem myself and it's not a song and this is not a songfic! OK thanx!**

(whews)

This new chapter is here because of something very sad that has happened to me. The MU game that I was helping to build has been stopped, and will no longer be built. This really hurts, and knowing my characters will never get to live out their lives is very painful.

So that pain has been put into this chapter. As all of my pain helped to write this fic, lol

Writers block has been nipping at my heels for months now. The MUSH hasn't helped. It makes me depressed and there is always a stupid fight every day or so that lasts for hours, and drains my energy. So I guess in a way it's good that it's over.

I'm so tired of fighting. It's better to live my life and be happy than spend all my time arguing over petty things.

* * *

**_Crushed_**

Death escapes no-one. For the longest time, I wanted to believe that I could change that for those that I loved. But the truth is, everyone that I love vanishes, turned to dust and blown across the deserts of existence.

I sit next to Quatre now, a part of me frozen with fear, and another part burning with that same hatred. Abandoned, in the past I hated. Hated everything. Everyone that I loved had left me, died and abandoned me. And that hate has returned. Except, I think it's different. I can't hate Hilde.

With this thought, my fires diminish, and I slump instead, the cold shadow of death falling across me once more. _Why . . . Why did this have to happen? _ It's the only coherent thought I can process, and I must spend the rest of my energy on trying to not cry then and there within the restaurant.

So much concentration given to that one thing, I don't even notice the blonde approach until she has stopped before us.

"Duo."

I look up at the gentle voice, and the eyes shimmering as a hot blue sky in summer. Her compassion is near to tangible within the upraised, curved-wing brows, and she slowly steps towards me, hands outstretched.

Now I'm really terrified. Suddenly I want no part of this, and I can feel my eyes widen as I half-stand, half stumble to my feet, the chair being pushed back sideways.

She stops, confusion and tenderness warring on her quickly changing face. "Duo. Won't you give an old friend a hug?" she speaks softly, and the lights behind her shine through the strands of her hair to make them glow gold.

"Yeah," I hear my voice speak, and my throat feels like sandpaper. Shakily, I take a wary step towards her. _What's wrong with you, she's not some wild beast that's going to rend you into bits or anything, _I tell myself.

Instead, her gentle arms find me and wrap around me, and the shuddering gets worse. This is why. I don't want this, I don't want it at all, and my knees are buckling slightly as my body betrays me. Maybe I don't want it, but something inside me must need the comfort.

I swallow and pull away enough to blink emptily down at her. "Relena. I, um. Thanks." As if an afterthought, my hands quickly drop and I practically jump back into my chair.

She takes it in stride, of course. With a kind smile in reply to my words, she then greets Quatre and they repeat the performance, albeit with more style and surety.

There are things that I wanted. Simple things. Normal things. Watching Relena and Quatre hug, looking so much like brother and sister and smiling at each other, I can't help but remember all the things I wanted for us.

My head falls and I study my lap. My hands, palms open, up to the sky. Empty. Empty like me.

I wanted a family. I wanted our children. But, most of all . . .

I wanted to tell her that I loved her.

I never did. She never knew.

And now I can't.

Silence surrounds me, and perhaps it is because tears run down my face, one after another, a slow pattern. But in my mind, I am falling into that vortex, that black hole again. Because I know that no matter what I do, she's gone.

And she's not coming back.

* * *

The conversation is weird. We're all stuck around one central axis that we can't mention . . . I feel like I'm rotating, being slowly sucked into something invisible, something that we all know is there, but can't see, and we're all just spinning around it, gradually being drawn into it. 

Oh wait, I already used the black hole metaphor. But it's really true . . . and my friends are just trying to avoid getting sucked in along with me. I guess I can't escape it . . . I've already crossed the event horizon.

I watch the blonde girl in front of me as she talks, eating her salad with a thin silver fork, the prongs sharp and clicking occasionally against her dish.

She thinks I need to move in with someone, and spend time with them. Maybe get a job or something, get away. I know she means that I should avoid my previous life, that I should get away from anything that might remind me of _her_ . . . but I just don't think I can.

Then she brings up how Heero is still working for her, and that it might be good for me to be among friends. I know she's right . . . I can feel it in the sinking feeling in my gut, the fear that envelops me once again. I'm afraid because I know it's true. And I'm afraid because I don't want to leave . . . I don't want to leave my statue behind. My last vestige of Hilde.

It would have probably been easier if she had died in a way where we couldn't find her body. It's funny, lots of other people who lose someone say it's harder to cope when they have that shred of hope that their loved one might be alive. But I say, to hell with that. I'd rather have the hope. I'd do anything to be able to say, right now "I never saw a body. She could still be alive."

But I did see the body. Right after she died . . . after they put her in her casket and dolled her up . . . and every time I close my eyes. I see her.

It was an accident. A stupid, silly accident. She was walking back from buying groceries and . . . she got hit by a car. The guy's brakes went out, and he didn't see her.

Believe me, I still almost killed him when I found out – or at least I tried. I had to be restrained by four or five people. But he got hurt too . . . yet he lived.

They tried to save her, they really did. But in the end, her heart just wouldn't beat. Her eyes were already closed when I got to the scene, and I was torn between wanting to see them open, and knowing they would have that empty look of death if they were.

I should have walked with her. Then, I could have been the one to be hit. But no matter how many times I say it to myself, I know I'm just being a child. Hilde's voice in my head echoes with it. _Don't be selfish, Duo._

But it is my fault. I go over it in my head sometimes, when I'm clear enough to think. How I was too busy to go with her, how I was repairing something, and so she went alone. How I thought nothing could go wrong. Everything was fine. I had my baby.

And then she was gone.

I take a few bites of my food and try to eat at least for Relena and Quatre's sakes, but I just can't. I haven't eaten decently since she left. I don't think I'm about to start now.


	4. Broken

Another chapter for you all. This time it is from a new perspective. I hope that you all like it anyhow.

Things have been interesting in my life lately. The MUSH has pulled itself back together, and things are slowly looking up, which I think is one reason why I haven't been writing for this fanfic much.

Also, the poems at the beginning and end of these chapters belong to me. They are not songfics. ;-p

**MG: ** Thanks so much! I really appreciate you reading more. Duo is the least likely character, in my opinion, to be able to handle a loved-ones death. Relena, obviously, is very strong. She handled her father, and her brother's death (when he vanished for a year) quite well. Quatre moved on when his father died also. But Duo, obsessed with death . . . is the least likely to learn to cope I think.

**Sunkissed04643:** Thanks for reading! I hope that you review again. This fanfic is hard for people to take, I suppose. I'm having trouble getting much of a following in comparison to my other fics, lol. Your support is much appreciated.

_**Broken**_

_Would you find me if I asked you to  
And if so, where would you look for me  
I am behind every falling tear  
Every zephyr blowing through the trees  
And when the sun sets on this day  
I will be with you, where you hide from me_

I so wish, while looking at him, that I could tell him that everything will be alright. But I tried that once . . . he didn't take it well. He railed and he wept and he screamed that nothing would ever be "all right" again. That it never could.

I look down at my salad, watch him pick at his own food, and find my own appetite is waning. My compassion for him is perhaps too strong; my stomach tightens and begins to churn, a reaction I knew would happen as soon as I came to visit him.

But I did it anyway, willingly, intentionally.

Heero is not a very emotional man. He wasn't very emotional as an early teenager, either, and has only grown slightly better over the years. He has made his devotion to me known, and in his own careful, quiet way, he has expressed his concern for Duo.

I suppose, however, that I myself have something of a survivor's guilt, except I feel that out of all of the people who should be mourning a loved-one's death at such a young age, it should be me. Heero was always a bit too enthusiastic about death. Such an irony, really. A boy who longed for death becoming friends with another boy who swore to give it to whomever asked.

Some might think that there might even be something sexual in the unusual closeness that the two have achieved, a nearness that at the same time seems so distant and unattached. But there _is_ something there, if you look hard enough. A friendship that has outlasted many things. However, after so much time and so many incidents that link the two, there is a part of me that wouldn't really be surprised if their connection found some other level. Yet it does not bother me.

Perhaps it is because I am a woman, and am therefore not really threatened by Duo's sexuality. Or perhaps it is because some part of me knows deep inside that the three of us are so close that even that could not come between us . . . or it could be that I simply can't see either becoming bisexual, even for each other. But I truly think that Duo will never see another person in that way, ever again. Not after Hilde.

She was his holy grail . . . she was the physical manifestation of his redemption. Now that she is gone . . . I fear for what will become of him.

His eyes, so deeply etched, hollow and enraged, risk a glance to me, and I wonder if he knows how he appears. If he knows the frightening terror he presents to the world right now. So close to breaking, to becoming once more that demon of death that he was for so long . . .

After sitting in this silence for a while, my gaze resting gently upon him, I take a deep breath. "Duo . . ." I know what must be done, but I hate to do it. Heero would approve, however. "You're wallowing, Duo," I tell him firmly. "And no one is saying it is not what you deserve to do," I quickly add when his mouth opens in angry defense.

Drawing my hands together upon the table, I tell him resolutely, "If you must think of Hilde, Duo, think of what she would want for you. If you cannot believe that she is alive in another place, a world beyond, then at least try to honor her memory, instead of letting it consume you."

My eyes become as ice, and I know it is true as I glare at him that he finds it threatening. I can be quite threatening when I wish to. "You will come with me, Duo. Because you know that's what Hilde would have wanted." And I know that however much he might try to push me away or fight me, he can't fight her. He won't.

I relax a bit as his shoulders slump, head lolling to the side to glare insolently at the wall. And yet, I can just barely see a softening in his eyes, as if a weight, a very small one, has been lifted.

I guess Heero was right when he told me that Duo needs someone to take care of him, now that Hilde is gone. He needs "looking after", Heero's version of love and affection.

Well, he is certainly not getting it here, in his empty room with his empty memories. He needs to start making new ones. It won't be easy, though.

I glace over at Quatre, who has been so quiet and polite through all of this, and we share a tiny smile of relief. Thank God that I was able to convince him. Quatre has been afraid for weeks now that Duo might try to take his own life, thus he's been visiting as much as he can, often every day.

I hope Duo doesn't realize – though I'm sure he will think of it – that this is one reason we all want him to stay with us. But even so, he seems to have acquiesced. Still . . .

With a stern expression, I point my gaze to him again. "You agree, then, Duo, to come with me and stay with Heero and I?"

Sighing, he straightens in the chair, then stares down at his plate. "Yeah, okay. But not for too long. Alright?"

"That's fine, Duo," I murmur, gladness brightening my smile.

_Please, please, let him find solace with us._

It is a prayer I have been making ever since I planned this trip, and now the intensity of the plea only grows stronger.

_Please, Lord. Give him this chance . . ._

_I'm right here, my love, come and find me  
Open your heart and take my pale hand  
Walk with me into an ethereal land  
You and I, held together  
Caught in amber, timeless forever  
What is death but a passageway  
For us to step through, then fade away_


	5. Battered

Hello, all! This chapter was the first of all of them where I was literally in tears. It was actually when Duo starts crying. (yeah, I know, he cries a lot, but never before in any of the other chapters was I crying too)

I was a little worried that I might be writing him too much as a girl, but talking to CEP straightened me out. According to him, not all girls are the same, and not all guys are the same, so while some guys might not have reacted the way Duo is, that doesn't mean he's not a guy because he's reacting the way I wrote him. hugs CEP

**Reviews? Definitely.**

**CEP**: Oh, baby. I'm sorry it hurts you to read it. :-( I wish it didn't make you cry. But, sadly, I feel a need to write it. Guess I'm a sadomasochist. :-(

**Lady Kali Barton**: Thanks! It's too bad you don't like DuoxHilde, but to be honest, most fanfics with them are rather tawdry, or cheesy (IMO). I really appreciate the review, and I'm sorry it took so long for another chapter!

**Omnicat**: You put life into my fanfics. You are the light of my GW world! Okay, enough sucking up, I know you won't agree to marry me. :-p I wonder, really, if people are too teary-eyed to review! I totally agree about Relena, really. She is one of the few people I wouldn't be surprised to see agree to a three-way marriage if it was necessary to keep everyone happy. (found an interesting fanfic that dealt with that very thing, but needed heavy editing. Still, kudos to the author, if I can ever find it again. I think it was under a C2 archive for threesomes or something.)

So, everyone, let me know if this is just as depressing, or if it's starting to improve! And is Duo IC? I am really curious because it felt very IC when I was writing it.

Love,

--Ukky

_**Battered**_

The trip came and went in a rush. I can barely remember what happened. I've never been on a commercial flight to earth. This time was no exception. We were on Relena's personal sub-orbital shuttle, just me, her, and Quatre. And the crew of course.

My friends did a good job distracting me with stories about her and Heero's struggles with the press and their slowly blossoming relationship, or Dorothy's debutante lifestyle, or the amusing anecdotes about Wu Fei's partnership with Sally and the on-again, off-again manner that they put up with each other.

But . . . I am still a shell of myself.

Now I sit and stare outside of a window onto a beautiful garden. This garden . . . Hilde would have liked it a great deal.

Relena told me that she based the garden and the house she had built from an old painting she saw once as a child. Every tree is flowering and delicate . . . it seems improvised, as a path wanders from the house down steps to a fountain. Nice. Pretty.

Their stories were funny, and it was nice to hear about my friends. I feel a little less mired within myself, yet the supreme weariness still lingers upon me like a stale breath. The breath of the dead.

I could never let Relena hear me talking this way. She's already so worried about me.

Heero greeted us at the door, if you can call his intense, searching gaze a greeting. Then he did something he'd not done since the last time I saw him . . . at her funeral. He took my shoulder in his hand, and clenched tightly, not painfully, but firm. And he just looked into my eyes. It was as if he could see everything I was feeling, and as I felt my features shutting down and closing off, I watched his eyes tighten, a shape to his lips appearing that hinted at an emotion of his own he wished to hide.

"Heero," I said to him, and I tried to smile, but it died on my mouth. He didn't seem to mind, though, and stepped back to let us in, and once again mundane conversation began, this time about lunch, and plans, and vacations.

This is a vacation. Fat chance I'll believe that. Vacations aren't done with this manner of desperation. Vacations aren't a mission that you are determined to fulfill. This is no vacation to Relena, or Heero, or Quatre. This is something that they are putting such energy into that the knowledge staggers me. This is . . . my deliverance.

They wouldn't want me to think that way.

They wouldn't want it because then I would have figured it out, and I think they fear that if I do, I'll bolt. And hell, I probably would have, if it wasn't for the fact that I have nowhere to go.

Okay, that's a lie. I could easily, through various illegal routes, take over a shuttle, or forge an identity and steal funds enough to get back to the Colony, or arrange an illegal transport, or smuggle aboard. But . . .

I guess I'm staying because they care so much. They love me with a love that I can't return. Not right now.

"Duo?"

Relena's voice calls through the guestroom door, and before I can say yes or no to her company she has opened it. It's alright . . . her barging in actually feels rather nice.

It felt nice when Quatre barged in on me too. As if proving their love for me by forcing themselves into my life.

I look into her brilliant blue eyes and nod. "Lunch time?" I ask, though my stomach is still feeling rather quivery. The trip didn't go well on my grief-stricken system.

"Yes." Her smile is so warm. It feels so difficult to breathe when she smiles at me, because I miss Hilde so much. Does that even make sense? Her smile, her womanliness, reminds me of what I'll never have again.

I guess I am feeling better, because I take her arm that she offers and I go with her into the other room. Heero watches us with a level of visible approval that I find astonishing, but then I suppose he was always compassionate under his icy exterior. His lack of jealousy embarrasses me. Damn, why do I care that he cares?

And he does. He cares.

And then I just can't help it. I start to cry right there and then, with Relena's arm in mine, and Heero's deep Prussian eyes gazing at me with such compassion and sorrow and I'm just sobbing.

I fall to the ground, to my knees, and they all bend to comfort me, to cover me in embraces. Their scents mingle as I weep myself to a frenzy of tears, as I shake and shudder and they hold me together. I can't even see, but I can feel them, hear them faintly as if very far away, speaking words that burrow through the knots of pain and agony before finding the holes inside of me and filling them up.

"I can't do this," I hear myself bawling, and I don't even feel ashamed. "How can you love me? Look at me, I'm so pathetic, I'm-" I can't even say it, I choke on the words. Worthless. Nothing. I lost her. It was my fault.

IT WAS MY FAULT!!

Then I'm screaming those very words, thrashing, and they hold me down, Heero pressing Relena and Quatre away - I think - because then I can only feel and smell him, and he's holding me so gently and tightly as I sob and shout and overflow with my misery, giving it to them, making them miserable too.

Aren't I a selfish fucking bastard? How dare I do this? I really have sunk so low.

I don't know how long I cried, but it goes on and on. And then, then I am just . . . spent. A hazy darkness is before my eyes when I open them, a deep, russet brown color and the scent of musk, and sweat, aftershave and wool. Arms still grip me tightly, and I realize faintly, a dim thought inside my dim mind, that Heero is holding me like a child to his chest.

I am so weak. Literally. I can't move, I can't even feel.

I lean against Heero, whimpering like a child, unashamed for some reason. I should be ashamed, but I'm too tired to feel it, too empty. Then, my eyes begin to close, and I can feel a calm and a peace settling over me. I think I'm falling asleep. I've not slept without the use of heavy sedatives for a long time.

I hadn't even remembered what it felt like.

And to fall asleep in someone's arms . . .

I've never really known what a guardian angel felt like until I found Hilde.

This feels much the same.


	6. Twisted

I guess I only have one person to thank!

**Sutoomu (Storm)**: Thanks for reviewing. There IS more coming. I'm glad to have a new reader! I'm also thankful for talking with you. It's you who has given me the impetus to move forward. Somehow reading your words saying that you are "relying on me to fix everything" gave me a new outlook on things, and for that, the resolution is dedicated to you! But not this chapter. It's kinda . . . messy.

Now where did all my other readers go? Oh well. If they weren't frightened away before, they probably will be now . . .

Hope somebody reads this and appreciates it!

**WARNING**: The first part of this chapter is pretty graphic. It's rated M for mature, and please don't read if you can't stomach sex, or violence.

Thanks. **Please review.**

_**Twisted**_

_Color me up, and sideways  
Paint me, tied up and thrashing  
I won't fight  
But I'll claw myself to you  
It's only chains of desire that hold me  
It's only you and your weeping wounds  
The cattle prod, the dirge of souls  
A cackling and a sob  
You cry red from bloody eyes  
And I die desperately for you, each time_

In my dreams, we're fucking.

It would be too gentile a phrase to say we are making love. This is a furious, lust and rage-filled deed, not a sweet, delirious wave of emotion. It's hot, and harried, overcome with desperation and avarice, wherein we are tearing and wrenching sections of each other away, feasting upon them greedily like rabid wolves.

As we clutch at each other, faces obscured by our own twisted grimaces of glee and dread, the fluid between us grows, warm and slick. With each thrust, I can feel it sliding over my stomach and across my thighs, and she runs her hands across it and then touches her bare chest, enthralled by the feeling.

And her hand comes away from her breasts crimson, and the blood splashes across us both as I gasp in revulsion, the sloshing and squelching sounds rising my bile, and she falls away from me, azure eyes suddenly vacant and short hair drenched garnet, and I stand, gagging, sobbing shocked cries of horror to see her gore-spattered and naked body lying upon an ivory nothingness, and I begin to scream—

. . . I gasp awake.

I hate that dream.

I . . .

We never _did_ that, you know. We . . . were friends. But if we _had_ . . . I would have wanted sweetness. However, now the feelings I have for her are all wrapped up in this twisted, fucked up world-view I've returned to. I . . . am death.

Death.

_Death._

I shudder, alone, on a bed in a cool dark room, and the window shades are pulled back to reveal a gibbous moon hanging gently in a sky glistening with stars. I don't remember how I got here, but I can guess. Clutching myself, I rock back and forth a bit, hearing my own whimpering as if from a far away place.

Sometimes I think I should see a doctor. Maybe a shrink would know what to make of the things that frighten me into a gibbering mess at four in the morning. But then again, I don't trust them.

I wonder perversely if Heero and Relena managed to get any tonight, to do the dirty while I was only a room away, nightmare wrought. I wonder if each were too disquieted by my affliction to do more than hold the other, staring up at the ceiling the way I have done so often. In my mind's eye, I can see them clutching fearfully at each other, gazing out into the universe, just the two of them rushing along time and space, alone in that mass of stars . . .

It feels lonely. It feels frightening, like how early man must have felt millennia ago, with a small fire blazing before him, but the cold wind at his back and a creeping, crawling shiver edging up his neck-hairs, drawing ever closer to him . . .

I grab at the blanket, then lie back down, pulling it up to me, tugging it, slowly, then more and more quickly until it is all folded and bundled up against me like a mountain of fabric. Then I stare at the ceiling, and imagine.

That's when I realize that I am really, _really_ messed up; I've not only started to live vicariously through my friends, I also am glad, in a sadistic, sniggering way, to have disquieted them so. I'm _hopeful_.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I squeeze the blanket in my hands, in and out. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. I really am going crazy. I think this over and over for a few moments, then laugh softly in the silent room. Crazy. That's me. Old Duo. Just another fruitcake.

I glance at the digital clock. It displays five-forty in the morning, but for a bare moment, the glowing red symbols looked like "_SAD_" . . . I chuckle again. Mind playing tricks. I'm totally losing it.

Then I look again, and feel a chill, because for a longer moment the rubicund numbers spell my name. _DUO . . ._

I shiver and turn away, pulling myself into a ball and tugging the covers up over myself, squeezing, releasing, shivering, whimpering . . .

_"Duo . . ."_

No. No, this is not happening. I'm not going to listen.

Never before had the voice been so . . . real.

"Dammit, Hilde," I whisper, quaking now down every inch of my form. "I . . . it's not you. I know it ain't . . ."

_"Don't worry, Duo. It's alright to be scared, to feel overwhelmed. I'm here."_

"No," I insist, "you're not. Hilde. I love you, babe, but you're _dead_."

I'm hearing her voice. I'm . . . _really_ . . . hearing it.

Unable to push it away physically, I start to talk to it, demanding the voice stop, demanding _she_ stop. For a while I just babble, on and on, and the sound in my head, in my ears, halts.

The silence overwhelms me again, and I bite my lip, feeling suddenly more empty.

No more voices. Nothing.

Tears trickle from my eyes as I stare at the gray horizon, and watch each and every star leisurely wink out of sight. I heard her voice. And . . . and I chased it away.

I find myself missing it.  
"I . . . I love you, baby," I murmur to the sunrise casting beams through my window. "You know I'd do anything for you, don't you?"

I could almost swear I felt something. Like someone was watching me . . . not threatening-like, but quiet. A quiet, watchful presence.

I start to wonder if maybe, maybe it could really be her. Like a guardian angel, or a ghost . . . could she be there? Watching over me? Is that why I've felt her presence sometimes, when I closed my eyes, or looked off into the dark shadows of the night, or watched the rain dance upon the roofs of the colony buildings in the blackest of storms with the streetlamps illuminating each droplet in a pool of hazy light?

I lie in the bed.

For a long, long time, I rest there, eyes open, but unseeing.

I wonder if this is how Hilde looked in the morgue.

I wonder if there was some part of her still there inside her body, watching the world, stunned like I am and thus staring blankly out from an empty shell. Maybe that's why the dead always look so startled. They're still trying to understand that they are dead.

Maybe . . .

Maybe _I'm_ still trying to understand that I'm dead.

Or . . . that I'm _not._

_will  
will not  
will not say  
I will not say what  
what I feel today  
today I feel  
and  
tomorrow I may not  
say  
say not what  
what I feel  
but  
please say  
tomorrow  
tomorrow is today_


	7. Fractured

Okay, it took a while (10 months) and I'm really sorry! But we're back now! So here is the next chapter. It's not as sad as the previous ones. I'm sure you'll be able to tell who it is.

**Reviews:**

**Kaeru Shisho**: Thanks! I'm glad to have you reading. Hope you're still around. I'd like to make a side-plot but I'm not sure what would be a good equivalent. The entire purpose of this is to show Duo traveling. I suppose I could involve more chars. Any suggestions? You're always one of my best reviewers . . . lol, I don't _always_ have something in mind. But I try.

**Sutoomu**: Thank you so much! You are far too kind to me.

**Omnicat**: Wow, your words for chapter 5 are truly a complement. I would say I was trying very hard, but to be honest I was deeply entrenched into the char when I wrote this. That might be how I get so good. Lol. I just let the characters write through me and they end up doing so many things. I cried as well at this chapter, at that exact place. I cried as I wrote it. As for chapter 6, you know I love you. Actually when it comes to music, I wrote this chapter exclusively while listening to Imogen Heap. She's amazing. I need to look up Katie Melua. And yes, things will get easier for Duo slowly. I think at this point I might need some new ideas, but I don't want to leave this at the wayside.

**Purdy**: Yeah, it's definitely sad. I'm still not sure all the time where I'm headed with this fanfic. I'm so glad you didn't forget it! Please don't forget it again, please review! I really appreciate them.

**Shadow**: Here you go, shadow! I have continued it. I really hope you like it, please review and let me know! _Hugs_ Sorry for the torture.

**ShadyLady666**: Thanks for the review. As for Duo's parents and being at the church, if you believe Ep. 0 he arrived at the church as a kid, so I don't think anyone can say for certain what happened before he was 6 or 7.

* * *

_**Fractured**_

_Alone we stand, against the darkness,  
Is it possible that others exist without us?  
Or does the universe spin alone, quietly mourning  
Those that passed before whom left without warning  
And here we are, abandoned, betrayed –  
All this for what? The false life that we lead . . .  
Or the pain that we suffer upon one another?  
Do we truly benefit from such things?  
Or is time just a demon, pulling our strings . . ._

The dissonant melody of electronica shudders through my sinuses, and I can acutely recognize and catalogue the emotions deep within the keening of the songstress in my ears. And yet, such feelings still do not touch me but for singular moments in the past.

The audial implant has become quite popular in the past five years, ever since the bio-electric technology previously used by militaries at war was released to the public. Upon the disclosure, manufacturing plants that previously made weapons sped production of high-tech toys, body implants, robotic assistants and bodysuits for the infirm.

I open my eyes at the slight reverberation against the stone floor, and see Relena entering the kitchen, no doubt aware that once again I am sequestered within the music I hear, this music I attempt to feel something from beyond the emotions I already have deep inside. I nod once to her, then turn as my internal chronometer reminds me to act.

She watches me quietly as I return to the omelet upon the stovetop, flipping it once, then stirring the bisque beside it three times, each being one-point-three seconds of rotation, before setting down the spoon. She thinks I am a perfectionist. I've never been able to tell her the truth. There are many truths I've never told her.

I can see her smile, and know that she enjoys watching me cook. I've told her that I find it enjoyable, but I'm still not sure if that's true. Does it count as enjoying something when you feel you're being useful? Or when you are satisfied that you've accomplished your goals correctly? I suppose it does. I'm not accustomed to failure.

The beat of the music is heavy. Sometimes I find my heart beating in sync with it, and force it to slow back to a regular rhythm. I suppose my body isn't used to having such background noise; but conversely I think I'm getting accustomed to having my own soundtrack. It's a strange luxury I've given myself. I'd never been permitted to indulge myself before. The mere idea of_ allowing_ myself to _allow_ such a thing had been alien to me for so long, that making choices was a difficult state to achieve.

I had once told someone that they needed to live according to their emotions in order to have a good life. But it took me years to believe that my life is worth being "good." Now that I do, I try to live according to what I feel every day of my life. And I try to not follow the emotions of guilt, pain and anger more often than I follow those of hope, love and devotion. Yet the former still sit heavily within me, while the latter are evasive, slipping through my fingers more often than I prefer.

I stir the bisque again, and beyond the music I feel Relena's heartbeat joined by another, and the snap of feet upon stone. Raising my head, I find Quatre stepping up behind her, and I nod to him as well.

He breaks the verbal silence more willingly than Relena or I would have had we been alone. "Good morning," he attempts a wane smile.

Clearly it's hardly good at all. Still, it's a required formality, so I flatly return it. "Good morning." I turn and open the oven, a small, satisfied smirk on my face as I see how well the quiche turned out. Perfect, as always. I've decided to allow myself a little pride occasionally.

"Would you like any help in carrying the food to the table?" the aristocrat asks, and I nod curtly.

"Is he awake," I ask as I remove the pie, and I notice the slight pause in his steps as he nears.

"No," Quatre replies, "his room's silent, the shower's not running—"

"Quatre," I say gently as I put the quiche on a cold burner of the stovetop, "did you check?"

His pale face turns paler, and he shakes his head. "No. No, I didn't."

I'm sure he thought that things would get easier now that Duo was with us. He's been away from combat for too long, no matter what nightmares he has that he doesn't think I notice when he spends the night. He's lucky that Relena sleeps deeply when I'm awake.

Frowning at her, I say, "I'll go check on him, finish for me."

She nods and gives me a smile, and without even speaking I know she sends her luck, and I'm warmed by the fact that she trusts me to handle something so delicate by myself.

I'm not the delicate type.

I lower the volume on the music with a simple mental exercise and head towards his rooms, my concentration primarily on audial and tactile sensations. The wide rooms of Relena's house help with echoes but the thick carpet muffles sound well. She refused my suggestion to put in all wood and stone floors. It was too cold for her in the winter, and too impersonal. I suppose it makes sense that my tactically sound advice isn't personal enough. However, it's a good compromise, for the carpet helps me to stalk any intruders who lack my agility and stealth. Either way, I win. I like those odds.

The halls are empty and dark but for the sunlight streaming through well-placed windows along the lengths, and at his room I hear nothing through the door. Entering swiftly, I find the room empty, the bed a mess of sheets, blankets and coverlets, pillows splayed. The sight confirmed what I had sensed last night, that his sleep was fitful and uneasy. His heartbeat had raced the entire night, a vibration even the music couldn't drown out. And yes, I know when the mailman is delivering, or when solicitors arrive as well.

Sunlight flashes across my retinas from the two glass doors, across which the drapes have been pulled wide open, one ajar. My eyes adjust immediately as I step forward, and I look out onto the garden, the life within it barraging me with minutia. I find him there, sitting on a bench staring into the pond alive with cloned frogs, koi and turtles, all dining leisurely upon the plethora of insects similarly created.

"Hey," he greets me as I approach warily. His long hair is unbound and he's picking through its unwashed mass.

"It's time for breakfast," I tell him, studying his figure. In the bright light of day, I confirm what I'd felt in his weight last night. He's leaner, an unhealthy lack of mass, apparently due to a starvation that wore away at his fat and went on to the muscle. His figure still appears defined, though, and I'm sure he'd do well as a male fashion model, if one got past the hollowed emptiness of his eyes. They look up at me, surprisingly bright and wide with an orchid hue, as he replies.

"Sorry. I . . . um, guess I wasn't hungry."

"And now?" I ask, allowing my concern to show with a frown.

He blinks at me, then looks back as a fish leaps into the air to catch a dragonfly. "Um, sure. I could stand to eat."

"Good," I tell him, then grab his arm to pull him up when he doesn't rise immediately. "Because you're going to."

"Hey!" he struggles at first, but he's weaker than he was and comes along sullenly afterwards. "C'mon, man, stop manhandling me!" he whines as I bring him through his bedroom. "You jackass, let go of me."

With a smirk, I release him there before gesturing towards the closed door into the hall. "After you."

"Yeah, well, I look horrible," he mutters, tackling his mass of hair in an attempt at a quick braid while he stands before a mirror. "Can it wait a few . . ." My glare silences his words, and he pouts with a moment of bravado I would applaud were it appropriate. "Okay, so . . . breakfast," he tries to smile weakly at me, and I nod, lifting a hand to touch his shoulder.

"It's just Relena and Quatre," I tell him, and his strength shudders from his features for an instant. Fear flashes across his eyes and he swallows once before the mask returns.

"Thanks, man," he mutters softly, and I nod once more before following him from the guest room.

I watch my old comrade walk with forced ease down the hallways and corridors of Relena's home, feeling the tension of his movements and hearing the speed of his heartbeat within my ears. I concentrate on that sound. It thumps out of time with the electronica that flows through my mind, and for a moment, the organ within my own chest struggles to decide which sound to match. After a fierce three point eight seconds of indecision, it chooses.

And I shut off the music . . . and listen.

_Dreams spin around us  
Our solid forms unmoving  
When the past plans attack  
And the future defends against  
Do we ever find a stable mid-ground  
To prove ourselves upon?  
I go into battle every day  
With myself, with you,  
With everyone  
And whatever made us  
Is whatever broke us  
And that's here, too  
For me to charge in battle  
And provide defense_


	8. Burned

Well, it's been a while.

Took me some time to get back into things. It wasn't easy. Life has been tossing me new situations and unusual mental challenges, and the newest one had me thinking I'd never write again when it was over. But here I am. This always seems to be the first fanfic I wrote for when I come back to writing. Not sure why.

Hope this is less depressing for you all. I also think I finally have a handle on the plot and where it's going. :-)

review answer time!

Only two, from two of my favorite people though, so I'm sure it's worth it. :-)

**CrazyElfPaladin**: Thanks, I do my best. and thanks for reviewing. I know you did it out of the goodness of your sexy heart. :-p

**Omnicat**: Aw, what a wonderful review! Yes, I feel like I'm channeling them. They often do weird things I don't expect them to, and when I'm off, I can feel it. It feels like I'm forcing the situation when I'm off, and usually when I go back and try to write again when I'm in the "zone" the scene comes out totally different. Heero will definitely get more chapters in his POV. I think Quatre deserves one first though, but then we'll start cycling them again. (grin) yep, cloned animals! Doesn't it just make sense though? As for the last line, thank you. I assume you mean of the narrative, not the poem. I felt that the character of Heero had emotions for Duo that, while not sexual, still could be sensual in the form of devotion and intensity of expression Heero manages to display. He is a deep-feeler, and that is probably why many think he doesn't feel at all. There are deeper waters churning beneath, far deeper than a shallow pool - or a shallow person. Ack, there I go! See, the juices are flowing. Thank God!

I sure hope more people review, but it's not really necessary. Read, enjoy . . . find peace.

PS: forgive the (to my mind) blatant reference in the latter poem. Kudos to anyone who gets it. The phrase was not mine to conceive, but I don't believe it's copyrighted.

* * *

_**Burned**_

_The sun rises  
Darkness sheds like scales,  
the world sloughing off shadow  
And I arise in the morning  
Tainted by night  
Blessed by day  
Roughened by hope  
Possessed by despair  
And I stare into the sun  
Wondering what I might find  
When I get there_

I don't like crowds anymore. I used to love them, used be the class clown, you might say. Except I never had any classes to go to but ones that taught me how to plant bombs, how to break into high-security areas, or how to assassinate someone and not get caught.

What, you thought I learned all that on the fly, as a street kid? Please. It was hard enough to get food in the ghettos of the colony I grew up on, let alone internet access. It would have been impossible for a seven-year-old to get his hands on high-powered explosives and a triggering mechanism for them, and even if he did, how would he know how to use them without blowing himself to hell?

No, I was taught. And though I loved being the center of attention, there was no rough-housing allowed in those classes. I wanted to learn, so I did. I had an intensity I thought I'd only feel when rescuing the other small ones on the streets, or attempting vengeance against our rival gangs. I learned, and learned well. I ate it up. I wanted to fight, I wanted to kill. Winning was just the icing on the cake.

Wow, I'm babbling. Getting off topic.

So, anyway, crowds. These days, any small number is a crowd to me. I feel crushed in, maybe even claustrophobic, when people surround me. Never felt that way before, you know.

Before . . .

Heero probably thought telling me I'd be eating with only Relena and Quatre would help me feel less afraid. Instead it wound me up tight, jarred me with realization. They were waiting for me. They'd be there, staring at me, and here I was, looking like something the cat brought home ten-days-dead. Sure, if Heero saw me all sweaty and dirty and just plain grungy, that was fine. But Relena was high society and Quatre'd obligingly returned to it – who wouldn't – and here I was supposed to go eat breakfast with them?

Really, that's the only reason I'm afraid of going in there. Nothing else. I look terrible. I probably don't smell so great, either. I check myself out – you know, you have to do the quick "sniff" test – and I guess I could be worse. But I could sure use some deodorant.

I turn and glance behind me, and sure enough, Heero's right on my back. "Heero," I ask, and continue trudging slowly forward, "You sure I can't take a quick shower first? I, um, I'm not very appetizing." I try a grin at him, and look into his eyes, those dark slate-blue eyes. They always send a little frightened shiver down my spine when he glares at me, and he's glaring now. I flutter my lashes and hope he overlooks the fact that I'm a guy for at least a few seconds.

He sighs, and the glare turns to an amused annoyance, and my grin widens. "Duo. You don't smell that bad. I doubt anyone will notice. But what they _will_ notice is if I have to drag you in there, or if you're not around. You _are_ going to eat," he informs me, and I feel myself shrinking. Dammit, I used to be able to stand up to him. Now I just feel like a kid getting caught shop-lifting. Not that that ever _happened_ to me. Okay, maybe once or twice.

"Okay, okay," I say softly, not wanting Quatre or Relena to hear this. Jeeze, how embarrassing. "Let's just go, then. Man, are you touchy."

I turn back around, and slink towards the dining area. At least I think that's where I'm going. Then I get shoved down a different hall by my jail warden and realize I wasn't quite on track. I find myself grumbling under my breath. Damned prick, it's not my fault I can't remember where everything is. I wasn't exactly sober long during the housewarming party a few years ago. I sigh heavily, feeling my body sink and become weighted with memory. Hilde went with me to that party. She'd looked so beautiful that night. The hottest women in the galaxy.

And it's like I was reminded she's dead. Like I forgot for just a little while. Sometimes it's like that. The full force of the remembrance hits you like a bullet train, leaves you flat on your back.

I take a shaking breath and straighten my spine, gazing past the light falling on me from the broad windows in the darkened corridor, and push my way forward. Just a few more steps until Relena and Quatre. But no Hilde. Not ever again. No Hilde.

I breathe more, determined for some reason to not let this beat me today. Tomorrow, maybe. Definitely the past couple of weeks. But not today. Just a few more steps . . .

Through the very modern kitchen is the dining room, a table laden with food and the two cheeriest of people waiting for me. I feel like a vampire thrust into the afternoon sun when I step into their presence. They practically glisten with the hope and joy I can see in their eyes. Dammit.

"Duo, good morning!" Quatre effuses as he steps near to embrace me, and I wince, trying to force my grimace into a grin. "I hope you slept well." Of course. Fucking wonderfully.

Behind him and far less forward, Relena smiles, her crystal blue eyes resting gently upon me. "I'm glad you could join us for breakfast," she murmurs in a smooth, polished soprano. I'm sure she's at her most diplomatic this morning. Can't have her new pet project upset.

_Gah_, I shudder the thoughts from me with a twitch of my shoulder as Quatre lets me go, and I try to sit quietly with the trio and not let my self-loathing show. _Duo, you asshole, _ my mind mutters to myself as they begin to practically wait on me hand and foot, putting way too much food on my plate – how the hell do they expect me to eat all that – and it's as if I can feel the anger that has returned begin to literally burn inside of me, like I've become the wick to a very large flame. Still, I know I shouldn't be this way. I know Relena wants to help me. But I hate being coddled. I hate being manipulated. I hate being treated like I'm infirm.

And I just get madder and madder and _madder_ until a voice interrupts my thoughts —

"Duo, would you like more? I'm so glad to see you like it." I find myself gazing up into the blonde girl's sweet face. "I'm sure Heero is pleased that you appreciate his cooking."

"What?" I snap, then my eyes follow her gaze down to my plate, where apparently I've eaten every damn thing on it. I feel myself flushing hot like a radiator and I keep my head down, but I find myself glaring at the chinaware. "Um, yeah, it's okay." _Jackass. _

I just feel more confused when my plate is filled again without me even moving a muscle. They're catering to me. Smiling at me. Loving me. Dammit, now I want to cry again, but they're just so happy. My emotions war within myself and I struggle between them desperately.

Then I realize that Heero is sitting next to me, because he moves a little bit closer, and his presence seems to sooth the ragged part inside me that chafes at such soft-glove treatment, that wants to cry because they love me, that wants to tell them _not_ to. . . "Keep getting angry like that and you'll be back to a steady diet in no time," he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear him.

"Fuck you," I whisper, and go back to my food; and strangely enough, that tight pressure on my chest is gone, and I find myself smiling just a little. "Hey," I mutter after a few bites, and I see Heero's glance shifting to me from the corner of his eyes. "It's a hell of a lot better than Cathy's cooking."

There's a moment of silence, and then his chuckling fills the room with a deep, baritone sound, and Relena and Quatre look up in surprise to hear Heero Yuy laughing out loud.

I hide the grin on my face and return to my food.

Maybe seeing my friends isn't such a bad idea, after all.

_Sunbeams  
Molten light  
The darkness shuts like a door,  
Closing out night  
Within the inferno,  
Pain is burned away  
Scars evaporate  
Evil is cleansed  
And where no shadows fall . . .  
I Am_


End file.
